


The Winners

by wingsofbadass



Series: Love Is A Losing Game [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:52:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8608846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/pseuds/wingsofbadass
Summary: They have their routine when they lose, but what happens when they win?





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry it took me so long to update this story! But I hope I have created a satisfying ending.
> 
> Thanks to flecksofpoppy and tiggeryumyum for supporting me while I was a whiny baby.

Jean should be excited.

His pulse is still thundering in his ears when the roar of the crowd signifies the true end of the match more than the trill of the whistle ever could. The familiar sting in the palm of his dominant hand is a warm tingle from having slammed the ball down onto the courts mere seconds ago. Someone is shrieking his name and then they're on him. Jean's teammates slam into him from all sides. It's a flurry of sweaty limbs and exhausted laughter; no backslapping, just shameless hugging.

Who's touching him where Jean doesn't know and doesn't really care about. All he cares about is Marco's arm around his shoulders. His heart lurches, but under the cover of euphoric huddling, he leans against his best friend's side and closes his eyes. They just fucking won against stupid Stohess and yet, there's a flurry of disappointment in the pit of Jean's stomach.

Jean should be excited.

But all he can think about is that victory means no Marco.

“That spike was amazing.” Marco's breath is hot against his ear and he shudders. He's exhausted after five intense sets, that's the only reason he allows himself to sink against Marco even further. The confusion of his feelings is too heavy on his drawn out body and so he doesn't fight the ever-present pull for once.

“You set it,” he mumbles back and Marco laughs, the sound pure, gut-wrenching happiness.

It's all a hazy blur, then; shaking the opponents' hands and waving to the still cheering crowd and listening to Couch's proud words. Jean watches the skin at the corners of Marco's eyes crinkle with his wide smiles. The way Marco's jersey is plastered to his powerful shoulders with sweat is endlessly fascinating to him. Jean's hung up on the freckles on Marco's hands as he cards them through his damp hair and combs it back from his face.

He wants, oh, he wants. But this isn't how this is supposed to work.

The guilt starts churning inside him as Jean stumbles into a shower stall. This thing with Marco was supposed to be a comfort, a bit of solace for the both of them when they lost and their bodies could barely hold the hurt it brought on. And yet, craving for Marco is simmering in his veins even now, when he's supposed to be nothing but elated with the win his team had earned.

He can't give into the selfishness of his wants. Marco deserves better than that, deserves better than the shitty friend Jean has been to him. He never meant for it to go this way. But as much as he wants to stay away, the urge to be close to Marco right now is so strong he can barely stand it.

Torn, Jean stays underneath the hot water for way too long, ignoring shouts about a party at Sasha's place and jeers about jerking off in the shower. He waits until quiet falls in the locker room, everyone gone home for now, to step out. It's cowardly to avoid Marco like that, he knows it is, but he's not strong enough to make the right decision right now. With a towel around his hips, he steps out into the adjoining room and freezes at the sight of Marco sitting on one of the benches.

Marco's head snaps up from where it had been lowered to the phone in his hands. The way he immediately turns off the screen and shoves the phone into his pocket makes Jean feel elated and then shameful.

“Are you waiting for me?” he asks, voice rougher than he'd like. His heart is going wild in his chest.

Marco's eyebrows rise a little at that. He's silent for a beat before he answers. “Are you really surprised?”

Jean shrugs and walks over to his locker, trying not to feel too undignified in his towel and flip flops while Marco is fully dressed in his Trost U tracksuit. “I didn't think you would.”

“Force of habit, I guess,” Marco muses. Jean doesn't miss the way his tone rises a little towards the end, as though he's asking Jean a question. Jean's throat feels tight.

What a fucked up habit they'd cultivated. Screwing each other senseless to cope with their failure as athletes. Screwing with each other's head's. Or at least, that's what Jean is doing to Marco. It's fucked up. He fucked up. The contents of his locker blur before his eyes.

“Jean?”

He blinks rapidly, trying to snap out of it.

“You okay?”

When Jean turns, he sees Marco coming towards him, eyes full of worry. Jean nods, but he can tell Marco isn't convinced. He comes to a halt right in from of Jean, gaze searching his expression for what he isn't telling.

They're close. Only now that the warmth of Marco's solid body is right there does Jean realize his skin has broken out in goosebumps from the chill of the air after the shower.

“We can still do what we do,” Marco says after a moment, eyes flitting between Jean's and betraying his nerves despite his unwavering tone. “If you want.”

With a sound that he hopes doesn't sound like the sigh of relief it is, Jean crushes into Marco. Their mouths collide, hot, hard. Jean's hands fist in the fabric of Marco's jacket and he pulls him close, closer, until they fall back against the wall of lockers. Marco's fingers dig into his sides, slipping a little in the droplets still clinging to his bare skin.

Dread is bitter in Jean's throat, but he doesn't want to think anymore, doesn't want to feel guilty. Marco wants this, wants it just as much as he does. So he closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy the wet slide of Marco's tongue against his own and the breathy little sounds puffing out between them. But he needs more to wipe his poisonous mind clean. Fingers shaking, Jean fumbles for the zipper on Marco's jacket and pulls it down, then pushes it off those gorgeous shoulders.

Marco tears his mouth away to reach back and pull his shirt off over his head. A groan escapes Jean when they are skin to skin, because Marco is so damn warm and solid and he's missed this so fucking much. He lets his palms trail over the smooth expanse of Marco's chest, then over his ribs, over his shoulder blades, so he can hold him close. All chilliness has left Jean's skin, he feels feverish, any minute now his blood is going to start boiling.

The knot in the pit of his stomach is slowly loosening, with each familiar touch and gasp and spark.

Breathing harshly, Marco presses open-mouthed kisses to Jean's jaw, making him shiver with the juxtaposition of silky lips and rough stubble on his skin. Marco's mouth is hot and Jean lets his head fall back against the locker door to expose more of his throat to those slow kisses. Marco's loving it, groaning against the damp spots his tongue leaves behind. Their hips are slotted together, fitting together so well it must be some kind of cosmic joke, and Jean grabs Marco's butt with one hand to urge him into moving.

Thankfully, Marco obliges him, beginning to rut against him in a rhythm the poor towel has no chance of braving. It falls open and crumples to the floor and now the fabric of the tracksuit is rubbing right against his half-hard dick, but it's not enough. He can still feel the guilt eating away at him, he wants it _gone_ , he just wants –

“Touch me,” he whimpers into Marco's ear.

“Jean,” Marco breathes, lips still on Jean's neck, and the overwhelming affection in his voice is like a punch to the gut. A flutter of fear erupts in Jean's chest.

_No. Marco, no, please._

Marco brings his lips back to Jean's mouth, kissing him, but it's too tender, fuck, it's so soft. His hips slow to a grind, and it feels good, so good, but Jean's pulse is racing, as though trying to get away from this. Marco's eyes are full of anguish when he meets Jean's. There so much longing, so much love Jean doesn't deserve and –

Fucking coward that he is, Jean closes his eyes.

He's never been able to meet that gaze.

“Come on, look at me,” Marco whispers gently as he wraps his hand around Jean's cock and begins to caress him. But he can't, he can't. He tilts his hips into the touch, wishing Marco would be rougher with him, jerk him off with harsh strokes, suck painful marks into his skin. But instead, Marco's asking for what _he_ needs for once and Jean is too scared to even give that to him.

Another soft kiss to his lips. “Jean, please.”

Jean captures Marco's lips in his and tries, desperately, to flee back into their usual rush, but he knows he can't. For the first time, they're not in sync, not moving as if of one mind and one body. Years of playing together and then months of coming together weigh heavily on them, as they struggle to find their equilibrium once more, but it's obvious it all must come crushing down.

“I can't do this,” is the first thing Marco says when he breaks away from Jean, taking a step back. His hands come to scrub over his face and the thought that he might be wiping _him_ away is just another small pain among many Jean can neither identify nor comprehend. His arms fall to his sides. Marco's voice is muffled as he repeats his surrender. “I can't do this.”

“Marco –” The words die in his mouth. What the fuck could he possibly say that would make this alright?

Marco looks tired when he lowers his hands.

“I'm in love with you,” he says simply, without flourishes, without joy.

Jean's heart squeezes with a variety of pains he doesn't understand the origins of, like a smattering of bruises of different discolorations.

“And I thought this was enough, that I could handle just sleeping with you,” Marco continues, his voice tight and his eyes weirdly unblinking. “But I can't.”

Suddenly, all the hurt is right there in Marco's features, washed to the surface, and Jean feels like crying.

“I'm sorry,” he rasps out and it sounds ridiculous and empty, but those are the only words he's able to pluck from the hurricane that is his mind in that moment. “I'm sorry.”

In reply, Marco nods, a sad smile curving one side of his lips. He bends down to pick up his shirt and put it back on and Jean suddenly realizes he's naked and close to tears. Frantic, he snatches a fresh pair of briefs from his bag and wiggles into them with his back to Marco. Behind him, he hears the sound of Marco zipping his jacket back up.

He's gonna leave, he's just gonna –

“I'll see you later?” Jean asks, sounding pitiful even to his own ears, but he's fucking scared, more than he ever thought he could be. “At Sasha's?”

Marco chews on his lower lip for a moment, gaze focused on nothing. “I don't think I'll be in the mood to come.”

“Marco,” Jean croaks, helpless. He has the terrible urge to hug Marco close. “I never meant to hurt you. You know you're my b–”

“I know,” Marco interrupts softly, cutting off the words that would probably just injure him even more. “And I always will be. But I'll have to work through this.”

Jean nods stupidly. His chest aching, he watches Marco grab his gym bag and leave without looking back.

 

* * *

 

When laughter crescendos around him, Jean realizes he’s missed yet another punch line or maybe the climax of some anecdote while he was lost in thoughts he can’t even remember now. He affects a little chuckle with difficulty, the sound hollow between the genuine merriment of his friends. Quickly, he takes a gulp from the beer bottle in his hand and tries not to grimace at how warm it’s grown.

Jean’s gaze flickers to the door of the kitchen they’re standing around in and his heart drops a little when he catches himself. He has to stop this. Stubborn, he fixes his eyes on Sasha, who’s inexplicably talking about bees, because he can be a functional human and have fun with his friends. Even if his stomach feels like it’s chewing itself up and there’s a heaviness in his chest that genuinely makes him want to press his hands to it in an attempt to relieve some of that awful pressure. Even if he feels like a piece of shit that doesn’t even deserve any of this; not this victory and not this celebration and not these friends and especially not -

Fuck, he hasn’t been listening. Again. Why is Connie now talking about Sumo?

For something to do with his restless self, Jean raises the beer to his lips once more, but then realizes he doesn’t even want to drink it. He’s taken maybe three sips from it all evening, its temperature is somewhere around piss by now and it tastes like nothing but bitterness to him anyway right now. So Jean abandons it on the kitchen counter he’s leaning against and crosses his arms in front of him.

And he looks to the door, because he’s pathetic.

He’s not coming, of course he’s not coming after what Jean did to him. Jean’s lungs seem to constrict with the memory of it, hitching his breath and driving heat into his eyes. The kindest friend he’s ever had and Jean had to go and hurt him, smash everything they had like it meant nothing. God, he can feel himself starting to unravel, right here in Sasha’s kitchen. He digs his fingers into his arms until he feels the sting, but it does nothing to distract him from the ache inside. The others are shrieking in laughter again; nobody notices.

Marco would’ve noticed.

Muttering something about fresh air, Jean pushes away from the others and all but storms out of the backdoor.

He’s panting in the crisp air, haltingly exhaling hot clouds of this confused pain he’s feeling. He misses Marco, misses him so might right now, because he feels shitty and that would normally be when he turns to his best friend. But he hurt Marco too badly and now he no longer has any right to Marco’s endless solace. He doesn’t know if he has the right to even _talk_ to him, message him ridiculous memes at 3 am, spend the day with him doing nothing but gaming and eating pizza, just _be_ with him.

Jean feels sick, dizzy.

What if Marco never wants to see him again? What if he blocks Jean’s number?

Jean is pulling out his phone to call Marco and his number hasn't been blocked already, when the door opens and Connie steps outside. He silently closes the door behind him and comes to stand in front of Jean, looking at his face intently.

“Are you okay?” he asks after a moment, worried in that seemingly casual way only Connie can pull off.

Jean looks down at his phone, where Marco’s name is still illuminated brightly. Connie follows his gaze, before Jean can turn his display off.

“Did something happen with you guys?”

The question is like a grip around Jean’s heart. He breathes out heavily and looks up into the dark sky.

“I fucked up, Connie.”

“How so?”

Memories of scorching kisses and laughter flash in Jean’s mind; memories of training together and of their bodies twisting together; of overwhelming pleasure and of Marco’s hopeful face.

_I’m in love with you._

“I hurt him,” he eventually chokes out and he kinda hopes Connie just pretends he didn’t hear his tiny voice.

“Huh,” Connie huffs unexpectedly, sounding so surprised or maybe doubtful that Jean looks down again to meet his eyes.

“What?”

Connie looks thoughtful for a moment. “That’s not what I expected you to say with how you look.”

“And how do I look?” Jean asks in a mocking, mean tone Connie doesn’t deserve.

Again, Connie seems to consider his reply as he looks at Jean’s face. And then, with the merciless truth of the tipsy, he says, “Heartbroken.”

It’s like a slap to the face, how true it feels now that he hears it. Jean’s heart is _aching,_ helplessly yearning for Marco.

“Connie...”

Jean doesn’t know what to say. He brings up his hands to scrub them over his face, but the confusion of feelings and thoughts won’t fade away.

“Hey, I don’t know what’s going on between you two,” Connie says quietly and Jean feels a warm hand squeezing his shoulder. “But whatever it is, you’re clearly not okay with it. I’m sure you can still fix things.”

Silence falls between them as Jean tries to clear away the weeds that his dark thoughts and feelings of guilt so he can find the only thing that matters.

The realization blooms slowly inside him. He wants Marco, wants him in every way he can imagine. As terrifying as this feeling is, it has also brought him so much happiness and he craves more of that. His heart stumbles over the intensity of the emotion and then again as a thrill of fear follows.

“Aw, crap,” Jean laughs roughly when he emerges from behind his hands and blinks impatiently.

Connie smiles back at him. “Come on, dude. It’s Marco.”

A million meanings lie in that sentence and they’re probably all true.

“Yeah.”

 

* * *

 

Jean's heart is in a shivery panic when he presses the doorbell. He's almost about to do it again when there's a clicking sound from the intercom and then Marco's rough voice sounds tinnily from the speaker.

“Yeah?”

Jean has to swallow past the lump in his throat to answer. “Hey, it's me.”

There's a heavy silence and then Jean has to scramble to open the door before the buzzing subsides. The idea of standing still in the elevator is unbearable, so he takes the stairs up to the fifth floor. A stupid idea, really, because when he arrives at the landing, he's huffing embarrassingly. Like the sight of Marco standing in his doorway isn't enough to leave him winded.

Marco's eyes are a little red. His hair is tousled, but he certainly doesn't look like he'd been sleeping. He' dressed in pajama bottoms and that faded shirt he'd gotten at a Muse concert years ago. The memory of that night, singing along in the crowd and holding onto each other as to not lose each other, tugs at Jean like a current he can't escape.

“What are you doing here?” Marco asks, not sharply or softly, just in honest surprise, like he can't imagine why Jean would possibly want to see him.

Jean couldn't hold the truth back even if he tried. “I missed you.”

Which is kind of ridiculous, considering they'd seen each other just a couple of hours ago. Marco doesn't seem to know what to think of that reply either. He's frozen on the threshold, one hand unnecessarily holding open the door, eyes wide and lost.

“Can I come in?”

Marco takes in a deep breath through his nose, then steps aside. Jean can't help but follow the movement of his bare feet on the tiles with his eyes. In silence, he is led into the living room where a rumpled blanket on the sofa is the only indication that Marco had been sitting there. Even the TV is turned off.

They stand awkwardly in the middle of the room, with a ludicrous space left between them that has never been there, even before they'd become more than friends. It hurts, not being able to reach out to Marco, but Jean knows better than to follow the urge. He's caused enough damage with his thoughtlessness.

With his gaze on the floor and his hands restlessly twisting in front of him, Marco seems like a smaller version of himself.

“Why are you here?” he asks finally, since Jean has been too busy staring at Marco to come up with anything to say.

So he just blurts out the most childishly simple thing on his mind. “I just – I wanted to be with you.”

Confusion and maybe something like annoyance mars Marco's features. “Jean, I can't be your friend right now.”

It's now or never. Sticking his shaking hands into his pockets, Jean gulps. “What if that's not what I want?”

A scoff flies from Marco's mouth, but far from derisive or mean it sounds hurt and choked up. “What, are you here for a fuck?”

Jean's heart plummets. “No! Marco, no.” Panicked now, he reaches out his hands and puts them on Marco's shoulders. As always, Marco is so comfortingly warm, even through the fabric of his shirt. “I'm not here for a – for a _fuck_.” When Marco doesn't move away from his touch, just keeps looking at him, Jean carefully trails his hands up to cup Marco's face. His hands are still trembling. “I'm here for you.”

A number of emotions Jean can't read race across Marco's face, before it settles on agonized hope. “Please don't mess with me. What are you saying?”

Jean is so fucking scared he feels like running again. But he can't. “I thought we were just – venting our frustrations when we got together. But then we won today. And all I wanted was to kiss you. And that scares the shit out of me.”

Marco's eyes are full of questions. “Why?”

“Because it's _you_ , Marco. You're the most important person in my life. You're so good and you deserve the world, you're too – I didn't want to fuck things up, I didn't know what to do, so I just – tried not to deal with anything. But I hurt you anyway.”

Marco closes his eyes.

“I knew I was hurting you, but I couldn't stop and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I thought I was gonna lose you. When you walked out today, I – I missed you like crazy. And not because I wanted to get off, I swear, I just wanted to – shit, my heart is out of control.”

On impulse, Jean grabs Marco's hand and puts it on his chest, right over his crazed heart. Marco looks at their joined hands, not saying anything.

“I'm scared shitless,” Jean admits.

Finally, Marco looks up at him with a sad smile. “Me too.”

Jean grips Marco's hand more tightly.

“You know me better than anyone. You know I never know what I'm doing. But I know I _want_ you, in every possible way. I want to be with you. I'm a mess, I know that, but if you'll give me a chance to –”

“Are you saying you want to be my boyfriend?”

Jean feels like he's going to pass out, from relief or fear or maybe both. “Yes.”

A careful smile stretches Marco's lips, lights up his eyes, his gorgeous eyes, and Jean's pulse is pounding with more than fear now. Elation, pure and thrilling is rushing through his veins with every violent pump of his heart.

“Okay,” Marco breathes and Jean chokes on the relieved laugh that bubbles up his throat.

The last of the unbearable distance between them disappears as their lips meet and it's so soft. Jean's hands are shaking on Marco's jaw as they kiss like it's the first time. And in a way, it is. For the first time, Jean revels in the storm of emotion that erupts in his chest. For the first time, he lets the vulnerable sound in his throat vibrate through their kiss. For the first time, it's alright to want, want, want.

Marco's arms wrap around his waist and pull him blessedly close. More laughter sneaks in between their kisses, both of them too happy to hold it in.

“Will you stay over?” Marco mumbles against his mouth.

“For as long as you let me,” Jean replies, chasing after those amazing lips.

Gently, Marco twists his fingers through Jean's and presses a kiss to the knuckles, before tugging him along into the bedroom. It takes Jean ridiculously long to shed his shoes, socks and skinny jeans, because he can barely stand to take his hands and lips off Marco. When they finally settle onto Marco's bed, Jean feels weightless, like a kite that's no longer being torn into different directions by the currents.

It's impossible to stop his fingers from wandering over Marco, whose eyes fall closed the way he does when he holds his face towards the sun, basking. Jean trails knuckles up Marco's arm, watching hairs rise and and muscles twitch. He rubs his thumb over the edge of Marco's wide-set jaw and traces the cupid's bow of his lips with careful fingertips and combs through silky strands of black hair.

“I never thought this would happen,” Marco whispers, without opening his eyes, and Jean's heart constricts with a regret he doubts he'll ever be able to shed.

“I'm sorry,” he says, a little too fiercely maybe, because Marco's eyes snap open and his hand comes up to close tenderly around his wrist.

“I know that, Jean,” he says, with that earnest expression Jean has always appreciated. “You don't have to keep saying it. That's not why I brought it up. All you have to do is stay.”

“I will, I promise.”

The smile that curves Marco's mouth threatens to melt Jean's insides, so he kisses him again. With a lovely sigh, Marco parts his lips and they fall into a deeper kiss, slow and searing. It feels so overwhelmingly right that Jean can't help but resent himself for his foolishness, but Marco is so warm, pressing against him in search of a closeness he was denied for too long. So Jean leans into it more, holding onto Marco the same way he's being held.

“It's not fair.” Marco sounds so breathless, his words hot against Jean's lips. “You're such a good kisser.”

Jean laughs, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Having always been a sucker for praise, Jean pushes against Marco as their mouths find each other again. With a hum, Marco lets himself be rolled onto his back and their kiss is euphoria in Jean's blood, it's every perfect strike he's ever smashed into the court, only so much better. He's tingling all over from this intimacy he'd never allowed himself. They're just kissing, kissing with a buzzed laziness, but he feels like every touch is waking him up from an unknown stupor.

“You're one to talk,” he gasps, leaning his forehead against Marco's for a moment. Warm fingers are slipping under the hem of his shirt, dipping into the dimples at the bottom of his spine. Marco has never touched him there before, but he must've wanted to, because his hands don't stray from there. “You're turning my brain to mush.”

“And that's different from the usual, how?”

“Shut up,” Jean tries to growl, but it comes out as a laugh. It's almost embarrassing how full of joy he is, but this is _Marco_.

“Why don't you make me?” Marco asks, an eyebrow raised.

“Oh, so _that's_ how it is.” Jean is so fucking weak, so he complies, kissing the endearingly stupid expression off Marco's face. “Trying to seduce me with cheesy lines.”

Marco grins, wide, gorgeous. The lines around his eyes crinkle again.“Is it working?”

In reply, Jean kisses him more. He couldn't stop himself if he _tried_. With his elbows braced on the mattress, he sinks his fingers into Marco's hair, nudging them into a better angle to deepen their kisses, sighing and swallowing Marco's sighs in turn. The little rubbing motion of Marco's thumbs at the small of his back is electrifying, sending a shudder up his spine.

Marco groans in response and his fingers dig into Jean's skin, grinding their hips together in a way that makes his heart stumble helplessly in his chest. He feels Marco's pulse hammering along with his own and, just like that, he realizes they're in sync once more. They've always been in time with each other, always.

They make out for a little eternity, losing themselves to the exhilarating simplicity of it. Their mouths and tongues move easily together, speaking a common language shared between just the two of them. In a silent plea, Marco's hands are sliding up Jean's ribs, taking the fabric of his t-shirt with them, and he obliges, tosses it aside carelessly. Every patch of skin, every muscle shivers under the tenderness of Marco's touch, now that the fear is finally gone.

“You too,” Jean mumbles and peels the Muse shirt off him. He discovers Marco's stomach is incredibly sensitive, when he strokes his fingers lightly down the dark treasure trail and earns a gasp and a squirm.

“How have I never noticed that before?” he muses and promptly does it again, watching the delightful reaction. Marco catches his wrist and twists it away from his stomach, threading their fingers together once more.

“We've never – been like this,” Marco says. Like this, actually paying attention to all the little details, listening to their song on a low enough volume to enjoy every note and cadence, instead of blasting it loud enough to drown out every thought. Like this, focused on each other, not on their own pleasure and misery.

“I wanna notice everything about you,” Jean says, kissing up Marco's neck until he can nip at his earlobe. Marco's hum rumbles close. “Every little thing.”

“I want to show you.”

And then Marco's hot mouth is on the side of his neck, sucking. Heart squeezing and hips rocking forward, Jean leans into it. Needy fingertips sink into Marco's shoulders with the delicious sting of it.

“God, I love it when you do that,” he sighs, dangerously close to moaning. Marco's hands pull on his hips again and Jean's thighs slide open easily, settling on each side of Marco's and oh, heat shoots through his veins now. Clearly pleased with himself, with that proud glint in his eyes, Marco leans back to admire the mark he must've left on Jean's skin.

“You bruise so easily,” Marco says, reverent fingers stroking over the still damp spot where his mouth just was.

“Maybe you just suck really well.”

Snorting laughter bursts from Marco and he brings a fist to his lips to stifle his mirth. “Now who's cheesy?”

Eloquently, Jean bites Marco's hand gently in reply. Their kisses grow deeper, sloppier with every brush of their lips. Sighs melt into groans, hips roll steadily against each other. Jean can feel himself grow hard in his briefs that barely protect him from the immediacy of their contact. Palms warmly explore hills and valleys, rediscover sensitive spots previously found and find new causes for shivers.

Breathing hard now, Marco arches his hips up against Jean's again and again. His fingers tug at Jean's underwear, dipping underneath to squeeze the little give Jean has to his butt, and his growing urgency is exhilarating. “Too many clothes.”

Jean just nods and then his briefs are pulled down to his thighs. He gasps into Marco's mouth when his dick meets the bare skin underneath him and he ruts against the dip right by Marco's hipbone for a heated moment, before he scrambles off to get rid of his underwear. Following his example, Marco shoves the rest of his clothes off as well, clumsily toeing at them until Jean helps him. He knows Marco sees the way he bites his lip against a smile.

It warrants some teasing, but Jean's a little distracted by the sight of Marco, naked and glorious. His dick lies flushed and heavy against his stomach and Jean instantly wants it in his mouth. With a needy groan, he straddles Marco's hips once more, melding their mouths together and guiding their dicks against each other.

“Can I blow you?” Jean asks in between the little moans their rolling hips are eliciting and maybe it's a little silly, considering he's done it before, done so much more with Marco. But everything about this feels different and fresh and so important. The reply he gets is an enthusiastic nod and a rush of breath like a wordless _please_.

Jean's hungry mouth tastes Marco's pulse fluttering wildly at the base of his throat and he dips his tongue into the hollow there, making Marco swallow heavily. A hand comes up to stroke up the buzzed hairs in Jean's nape, then sinks into the longer strands, something Jean has always loved and he hums his approval against the dip between Marco's pecs. Feeling emotional, Jean kisses the spot over Marco's steady heart once, twice and then a final time until no longer feels like he's going to spill over.

“Jean,” comes the sigh from Marco, who of course picked up on his mood. His fingers brush through Jean's hair in a soothing motion and Jean closes his eyes for a moment, lips lingering on the thrilled thudding he's causing.

The way Marco's body twists with the teasing pleasure when Jean drags eager lips along the lines of his stomach is still such a delight. Sounds of outrage and fun and openness spill from Marco's lips in a melody of happiness that Jean wants to listen to on repeat. Those powerful thighs fall open to allow him to settle between them on his stomach. Under his tongue, the muscles contract and shudder, making Jean's dick twitch.

“You're so cruel,” Marco says, still holding Jean's head in place, pulling him closer yet.

“I'm a villain,” Jean agrees with a smirk and sinks his teeth into Marco's protruding hipbone, tearing a moan free that has him pressing his own dick against the mattress in desperate need for some friction. Acting on his first impulse, he lowers his mouth to Marco's dick and swallows down as much as he can without gagging.

“Oh, _god_ ,”Marco groans, stomach tensing and cock throbbing.

Jean pulls up slowly until his lips hit the thick head of Marco's dick, sucking and sucking harder when he tastes precome on his tongue. Marco is breathing harshly as Jean licks messily at the slit, loving the shameless heat taking over his body from how sexy he feels right now. He's making Marco melt into the sheets with every drag of his mouth over the now rock-hard shaft. Needing to breathe a little, he pulls off and kisses wetly down the underside, before licking back up. The way it jumps slightly in his hand is so damn hot.

“Jean, can you –” Marco breaks off, both hands tightening a little in Jean's hair.

Curious, Jean rests his chin on Marco's quad. Marco has never really asked him for anything in bed before. He held back so much, Jean realizes, and he still isn't letting everything go. “Tell me.”

There a little sound of mortification and Marco covers his face with both hands as he works up the courage to voice his request. “Could you, uhm, suck my balls?”

Jean presses the smile forming on his lips onto the inside of Marco's thigh.

“Sure.”

Since getting his balls sucked never really does anything for Jean, he doesn't really think of doing it to others himself, but he's so damn happy Marco's comfortable enough to ask that he immediately loves the thought of it. Marco hums when he presses soft kisses to them, then licks playfully.

“Good?” he asks and his hot exhale makes Marco shudder.

“Yeah,” Marco breathes raggedly. Jean can't see his face at this angle, but Marco's hand reaches down to grab his own dick, to stroke himself while Jean's lips are where he wants them. The way Marco is taking what he wants, what he needs from their intimacy turns Jean on so much that he can't keep from rubbing himself artlessly on the sheets. An almost startled moan comes out of Marco's throat when Jean finally sucks a ball into his mouth.

“Maybe you just suck really well,” Marco quips, voice strained.

With a snort, Jean pulls off to laugh way too loudly to be sexy. He swats at Marco's hip. “Do you want me to _choke_?”

“Oh, don't tempt me,” comes the giggly reply. He's stopped jerking himself off, both hands holding his stomach as he laughs.

In revenge, Jean gives Marco's other ball a harsh suck, turning the laughter into another moan. His dick is aching for friction, though, so he trails light kisses back up the length of Marco's body until their lips meet again in a hungry kiss. Not willing to break it, Jean grabs for Marco's hand and leads it toward his dick, hoping to convey what he needs. Marco hums into the kiss, then wraps his fingers around Jean's neglected cock.

 _Oh, finally_. Jean moans gratefully, his hips stuttering from the tight grip, the perfectly slow pace of Marco's strokes.

“Touch the –” Marco reads his thoughts before he can finish the sentence and thumbs at the head, sending sparks through Jean's body. “ _Yes_ _._ Fuck, you're perfect.”

Their kisses are messy now, wet and desperate. Jean nibbles at Marco's lower lip, then licks the sting away, his brain hazy with how good he feels.

“Bitey, huh?” Marco rasps, kissing along Jean's neck.

Jean didn't realize he is or that he apparently held back with Marco before. “I can stop.”

But Marco shakes his head. “I really like it.”

Their eyes meet and for a couple of heartbeats they just look at each other, Marco with his eyes full of affection and Jean drinking it all in for once, desire swirling hotly in his gut. It's intense, this connection between them, but Jean feels greedy, wants everything Marco can give him of this feeling.

“I want you inside of me,” he says, voice going high and needy at the end.

How much Marco wants that too is obvious in those big eyes instantly. He takes his hands off Jean to twist and reach for the drawer of the bedside cabinet. Feeling flushed, Jean sits up and strokes himself lightly as he watches Marco fish out lube and a condom so quickly it makes him smile. With the lube in his hand, Marco looks up at Jean, pondering something.

Jean raises an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Would you lie on your side?” he asks, tilting his head slightly to the right. Fucking adorable.

“Okay.” Jean slips from Marco's hips and settles on his side, head propped up on his hand. He's about to make some ridiculous pose to make Marco laugh some more, when he has a thought. “Or did you want me the other way?”

Marco lies down to face him, a soft smile on his face. He runs the backs of his knuckles along Jean's cheek. “No.” A breath of a kiss is pressed to Jean's lips, making his heart hurt with how tender it is. “Just like this.”

Scooting down a little, Marco slides a warm palm down Jean's thigh, before he pulls it up, across his own waist, spreading Jean open in a position he's never been in before. Jean's pulse is suddenly too fast, flighty.

“That okay?” Marco asks, fingers soothing on his knee. Jean nods, but seeks out Marco's lips for a kiss, needing the reassurance. They're so damn close like this, he can feel Marco's chest expand and deflate with every breath. Marco kisses him with a calm that spreads through Jean's chest, like tea in hot water.

“I don't know why I'm nervous,” Jean admits, feeling a little silly, but now that he's started being open with Marco it seems impossible not to say it. For something to do, he traces a pattern of freckles across Marco's shoulder with his finger.

“Well, we can't pretend it doesn't matter anymore,” Marco replies, tone careful, like he's worried he'll upset Jean.

“You mean _I_ can't pretend it doesn't matter.” Jean snaps his eyes to Marco's. There's no way he's letting Marco include himself in the blame when Jean was the one who fucked it all up.

“I was _trying_ to pretend as well,” Marco says, rolling his eyes at himself. “Guess I'm not winning an Academy Award anytime soon.”

“How about an award for your dick?,” Jean teases with a nudge of Marco's leg to cover the moment of awkwardness. “I want it.”

Another smiling kiss to settle them and then Marco is coating his fingers with lube. Jean slings his free arm around Marco's neck, letting his fingers splay into soft hair, as a slick tip starts circling his entrance. Marco's gaze is focused on his face, watching every expression, and Jean feels so damn exposed, but for once, he doesn't close his eyes or look away.

He moans shamelessly when Marco sinks his middle finger into him, thrusting deeper gently. Despite all that pretending, Marco knows exactly how much he loves being fingered. Taking a deep breath to relax more, Jean carefully rocks his hip forward, making his dick bump against Marco's stomach. The drag of Marco's finger is slow, perfect, and Jean doesn't try to hold back his pleased noises.

“You sound so damn sexy,” Marco whispers and _fuck_ , the praise goes straight to Jean's dick. With a groan, he presses his mouth to Marco's, kissing him until they're both out of breath. He can feel himself growing fully hard again with every time that finger goes deep. Before he can even ask for it, Marco pulls out and brings two fingers against him, rubbing.

The press of two fingers is even more exquisite and excitement curls in Jean's stomach, because he knows Marco, knows what he's gonna do once he has two fingers in. Eager for it, Jean meets them with his hips, taking them deeper still and making Marco's rhythm falter for a moment. Their foreheads lean together, breaths mingling in the tiny space between them.

Marco thrusts a couple of times more before he curls his fingers right into Jean's most sensitive spot.

Dizzying pleasure crashes through Jean and he moans too brokenly, too loudly, but it feels so _good_ , so fucking good. Distantly, he hears Marco speak, but he doesn't take in anything over the rush of blood in his ears and oh god, Marco is still rubbing, rubbing mercilessly. He feels his dick leaking messily over their stomachs and and he feels like he's gonna explode any moment, it's too much, it's too good, it's –

Marco stops, goes back to careful thrusts.

“Oh, fuck.” Jean's gasping, eyes pinched shut, his arm and leg tight around Marco to press closer and so he forces himself to relax. When he looks at Marco again, the bastard is smiling. Jean wants to fling some sharp words at him, but all that comes out is another weak, “fuck.”

“I love doing that to you,” Marco breathes into his ear and Jean shivers. Still unable to articulate himself, he nudges Marco into a kiss that keeps getting sloppier the more Marco scissors and twists his fingers. By the time he's taking three fingers, Jean is rolling his hips into it, making his dick rub against Marco's abs with every movement. Each time Marco brushes over Jean's prostate, Jean jolts with moans Marco chases greedily with his lips.

When Jean finally tells Marco it's enough, he slips his fingers out carefully, but they don't move just yet. They're about to take that step they've taken so many times before, but never quite like this. Jean strokes Marco's hair as their kisses find a calm once more and rolls onto his back, pulling Marco along. The easy way Marco fits between his thighs is so perfect.

“I want you like this,” Jean says, enjoying the weight of Marco's body on him, even if he's bracing most of it on his strong arms. Jean's hands are steady as they slide up the soft skin on Marco's sides. “I wanna look at you.”

Marco breathes out shakily and nods, some emotion rendering him speechless. Heart light with how effortless things feel between them now, Jean keeps running his hands over any part of Marco's body he can reach in a slow motion, while Marco sits up to roll on the condom and cover his dick in lube. He leans back over Jean as he lines up, their eyes meeting, then their lips and finally their bodies.

Being spread open by Marco's dick has never felt this intimate. They're both holding their breaths with how amazing it feels, caught in each other's eyes. Marco chokes out Jean's name, just a J and a sigh, as he works himself deeper with steady little thrusts. Jean's hands press into Marco's shoulder blades, wanting him closer, closer. The thickness feels amazing, filling him so fucking good.

With a velvety moan, Marco slides in completely, his hips pressing against Jean's ass.

Jean can't look away from Marco's face. His starving gaze devours the twist of Marco's brows, the way his teeth sink into the full lower lip, and the stunning adoration shining from his eyes. Of course, Marco had always looked at Jean with an affection that spoke of so much more than their years of friendship. But in comparison to now, what Jean has seen before seems laughably dim. Marco loves him so much, it threatens to set Jean aflame in turn.

“You good?” Marco asks and when Jean nods in response, he drags his hips back, then buries himself back into Jean. Marco's dark lashes flutter rapidly with how it good it makes him feel and that sight is almost better to Jean than feeling him inside. Almost. Slowly they begin to move with one another, languidly they savor each time their hips come together like they're trying to stretch time itself to prolong this.

Jean feels warm all over, like every single touch from Marco permanently altered his skin. He takes one hand off Marco's back to slide it into his dark hair and pull him down for a kiss. It almost feels like choking on how much he adores Marco. Something like a whimper bleeds into their kiss, because Marco is still moving in and out of him, the slow friction making Jean dizzy with how _good_ it is.

“Deeper,” he rasps when their lips part just a tiny bit, not caring how needy he might sound.

“Okay.” Marco's voice is breathless. With every hot exhale he scorches Jean's lips.

His hips coming to a stop, Marco shifts his weight to one arm so he can wind the other under Jean's knee. Carefully, he bends it back, changing the angle and opening Jean up further. Excitement tingles in Jean's stomach.

“Which porno did you steal that one from?” he teases and watches with satisfaction as Marco splutters a startled laugh. They're so close that he can feel Marco's stomach shake with it. It's so stupidly wonderful he can't help but smile.

“I take it back. You can't stay.”

When Marco leans down to kiss him, Jean's leg is pushed back a little further and Marco slides in deeper still. Jean moans shakily, slinging his other leg around Marco's hip to hold him there. Jean's name spills from Marco's lips and he begins thrusting again, powerful now where he was gentle before. It's still stunningly slow, however, and their noses are brushing with every move.

Fuck, it feels so amazing. They're both panting heavily now; Jean's hand slips a little in the sweat that's beginning to gather at the small of Marco's back. Jean can't stop looking at Marco and his hair sticking to his damp temples and his lips parted by moans and his amazement-filled eyes that never leave Jean.

“I wanted this so badly,” Marco breathes and his eyebrows twist with the longing in his words. Jean's heart skips a painful beat, but he fights down the apology that rises again like vomit.

“Me too,” Jean admits instead. He opens a hand on the sheets next to his head, a silent plea that Marco understands and indulges at once. Of course he does. Marco slips his hand into Jean's and their fingers lace. The movement changes the angle of their bodies again and –

“Oh, god,” Jean moans, his eyes fluttering shut. He hears Marco pull in a gulp of breath like he needs more oxygen to stay intact. But he keeps very still as he speeds up his thrusts a little, hitting Jean just right again and again. “Yes, yes, yes, _there_.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jean's head is _spinning_ with the sensations. All he can feel is Marco's dick nailing his sweet spot so damn good and his fingers squeezing Marco's hand. The warmth in the pit of his stomach is boiling to a heat; he feels like a too full glass, about to spill at any minute; he feels so full of feeling, of lust, of love.

“Marco,” all that's coming out is his name and Jean can tell it's obvious that it's more than a name, that it's the start of a sentence, a declaration.

“I know, it's okay,” Marco whispers against his cheek, somehow understanding.

But Jean can't stop sighing Marco's name. He's so fucking close. His whole body is a tense, trembling mess, but he can't take his hands off Marco to touch himself and he can't find his words to beg Marco, all he can do is moan and sob. Marco is murmuring tender words into his ear, but they get lost in the rush of blood and the thundering of Jean's heartbeat.

Only when Marco brushes his nose against Jean's, does he open his eyes again and the look of heartbreaking relief on Marco's face makes him realize what Marco had been saying. _Jean, please look at me._

Holding Marco's gaze in that moment is the most terrifying thing he's ever done. And it's so fucking wonderful.

The orgasm slams into Jean with blinding force. He loses the fight and closes his eyes as his body winds, overwhelmed with the ecstasy. His release is one hot splatter against their stomachs after the other, each thrust wringing more pleasure from him. In every way he can, Jean is holding onto Marco, wanting him so very close. Jean feels Marco freeze for a moment, before he shudders heavily with a long moan, coming just as the waves of Jean's peak begin to calm.

Marco carefully pulls out after a moment and lets himself collapse on top of Jean, buries his face in the crook of Jean's shoulder. They're still holding hands, so Jean gently squeezes Marco's now relaxed fingers. He squeezes back and a fluttery warmth erupts in Jean's stomach.

“Am I too heavy?” Marco mumbles after a moment.

“No,” Jean answers truthfully and winds his free arm around Marco's waist to make sure he doesn't roll off him anyway. He loves feeling Marco's weight on himself. Jean could fall asleep like this, sweat and jizz be damned. It's like he's floating, here in Marco's arms.

“So,” Marco begins, sounding a little apprehensive. He doesn't emerge from where he's hiding his face against Jean's skin. “Y-you're really staying?”

The question is like a slap to the face. One Jean deserves. But that doesn't change the fact that it _hurts_. It hurts that Marco can't trust his words enough to know they are earnest. It hurts that it's Jean's fault for acting the way he did for so long. Of course Marco can't trust him.

Jean turns his head to the side so he can stick his nose into Marco's hair, press a kiss to the dark strands.

“Yeah, I'm staying,” he promises again.

He wants to be worthy of Marco's trust.

“Okay.” There's a smile in Marco's voice.

 

* * *

 

Marco awakes wrapped in warmth.

The knowledge that those are Jean's legs tangled with his own and Jean's arm slung over his waist and Jean's even breath tickling his bare skin has him pressing a huge smile into the pillow. Jean is sleeping in his bed! His boyfriend is spooning him in his bed! Carefully, Marco sneaks his hand down to his stomach to twine his fingers with Jean's. There's a sleepy little noise from behind him, one Marco has never gotten to hear before, but Jean doesn't seem to rouse.

Marco's chest feels so light, like it's been pumped full of helium and he will float away any minute now. Unable to control himself, he squeezes Jean's fingers, presses their joined hands to his chest. A grumble from Jean makes him freeze in abashment.

“Marcooo,” Jean rumbles, shifting closer and smooshing his face against Marco's shoulder. When he speaks again, Marco can feel his lips move. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

That doesn't even sound believable to Marco's own ears. Jean lets out a lone puff of warm laughter, but it's enough to flood Marco with thoughts of just how much he _adores_ that boy, how much of a goner he really is. And as vulnerable as it makes him, has made him for so long, it's okay now. So he just gives up any hope of pretense and raises their still intertwined hands to his lips to kiss Jean's knuckles, cheesiness be damned.

Jean doesn't make fun of him, though. He sighs deeply through his nose, his body melting into sleepy relaxation once more, before he presses soft lips to Marco's skin.

“Don't hold back,” Jean says, his voice softening to a plea. “I won't either.”

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, Marco lets go of Jean's hand and twists around to face him. Jean's hair is a disaster, his face is wrinkled, and he's squinting unattractively against the light, a perfect mess right here in Marco's bed. The sight is so lovely it tugs at Marco's heart, because he wanted this _so much_. Jean with his arm slung over his eyes is still a fresh memory and so it's quite amazing to watch Jean struggle to keep his eyes open, to meet Marco's eyes. He's no longer hiding from him, no longer holding back.

“I don't want to,” Marco tells him and watches Jean's lips curve into a smile so soft that it feels just as intimate as the closeness of their bare bodies.

“Good,” Jean replies, finally looking back at him steadily. His hand finds Marco's cheek, a caress that leads them closer still, until their lips meet in a sweet kiss. Starved for affection as they both are, their moments blur together with sighs and shivers, with touches and tenderness. Their mouths speak without words, moving together to sate this need.

The morning has almost yielded to midday when Marco is lying with his cheek pressed to Jean's chest, finger tips light on fair skin, and he suddenly remembers something.

“Hey, Jean?”

Jean is silent for a moment, entranced as he's playing with Marco's hair. “Hm?”

Marco smiles. “We won.”

“What?”

Turning his head so he can look at Jean, Marco repeats himself. “We won.”

They look at each other for several heartbeats, each one passing with a flash of memory. Training together for hours and hours. The first time they kissed. Jean smashing the ball down on the other side of the court. Nights spent together, just talking. Marco setting the ball perfectly for Jean to spike it. _I want to be with you._

Slowly, Jean returns Marco's smile. “Yeah. We did.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> If you enjoyed this... I'm hopeless and awkward and desperate for comments! ;D


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